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blurbfics · 2 months ago

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There'd Better Be a Mirrorball | Azriel x OFC [part eleven]

Summary: A shift in the wind and in her mind. He makes a vow.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: violence, heavy swearing, brief description of sex. drugging/poisoning, threats, skinning (brief), anger, angst

Minors, do not interact.

a/n: sometimes you just have to go out to a goth bar with your friend and make out with a random guy for research/inspiration purposes, you know? he actually gave me a great idea, right as i was leaving, i made eye contact with him and he rushed up to me, said "come here, dame un beso," and pulled my face to his for a goodbye kiss. he did the whole cupping-my-face-with-one-hand and slid the other one around my waist thing too, and then gave my bottom a quick smack when i pulled away. writing material indeed

part ten

masterlist

"A tear in the membrane

Allows the voices.

They wanna push you off the path

With their low frequency wiring."

Thom Yorke, Hearing Damage

The late afternoon air was brisk to all around her yet she barely noticed, skin flushed and damp with sweat as it was.

“-it was a matter of misinterpretation!-”

“-but the leader of the last clan of lightsingers grew ever more arrogant and unforgiving-”

She rushed through the throng of people in the main avenue, uncaring as her shoulder knocked into those around her, not hearing their insults and name calling as she pushed her way through the blurring masses, letting out a breath of relief as she broke through the crowd and into a grim alleyway, closed off by a single heavy chain crossing from one establishment to the other.

“Elain Archeron gives the Shadowsinger a powdered remedy meant to treat his headaches from-”

Eowyn easily stepped over the heavy chain, but stumbled slightly at that particular whisper. It wasn’t often they said anything of interest about anyone she cared about. Not having the right headspace nor the time to linger on it, however, she regained her balance and continued on, evading the occasional obstruction in her way as she walked further down the alley towards the other side of the street.

Halfway down she huffed to herself at the shift in wind that was now so familiar to her, the whooshing sound of flapping wings echoing from above before his voice did.

“A little late to be out here, isn’t it?” Azriel’s voice called out cooly, keeping a step behind her. Whether by his doing or by their own accord, she felt his shadows crawl up her skirts and under her veil, weaving affectionately through her hair.

Any other time she would’ve laughed at their gentle tickling, pleased to see Azriel again after a week long mission. Now all her mind could focus on was getting to where she needed to go before she lost it again.

“I don’t recall inviting you,” she shot back immediately, but she knew she lacked her usual teasing tone. She shook her head quickly, as if trying to shake the shadows out from her hair but regretted the movement immediately, both because of the piercing pain that stabbed through her skull and because of the incomprehensible droop of the one specific shadow that liked to ride along her wrist or cupped in her hand whenever they were around.

She didn’t have time for this.

“Must’ve slipped your mind,” he parried, either ignoring her unamused tone or not noticing. Likely the former.

“If you’re going to follow me, fine, but don’t get in my way,” she practically barked, and found herself rather surprised that he didn’t so much as flinch at her tone, as anyone else would do. He simply remained silent and unruffled, following close behind. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her curiously and attempting to decipher what had her in such a rotten mood, and although she regretted being so hostile to him, wishing she could simply greet him and converse with him as she did whenever he came back from missions, she simply couldn’t. Not now.

She huffed and rounded the corner into the less busy street.

Quick to surmise her intentions as she looked up at the sign outside the apothecary door, Azriel’s shadows rushed before her, opening and holding the door open for her to push her way through. Barely murmuring a short “thanks,” she stomped through the shop.

“Don’t believe a single thing this bitch says,” she hissed at the young fae male who flinched in place, head whipping to look at her in terror as the herbalist merely patted his hand assuringly. “She’s a fucking charlatan,” she continued, finding herself being held back by Azriel who immediately rushed in after her to stop her from launching herself at the herbalist.

The fraud in question didn’t seem the slightest bit alarmed, much to her chagrin, as she only handed the young male his coins back, placing a hand over the tonic in front of them. “You give this a try, free of charge, sweetheart, and you’ll notice the difference immediately, Mother give you strength.”

The fae male– shooting a nervous look at the entirely veiled enraged female and the huge winged male holding her back– could do nothing but snatch the tonic and his coins and bolt out of the shop.

“You fucking cunt,” Eowyn seethed at the herbalist. She had begun to make monthly trips out into Velaris– a great achievement for someone who was something of a recluse for such a long time– and found her usual herbalist, Madame Loerma, growing increasingly suspicious of her use of sleeping draughts. She had thus begun to circle around other apothecaries, dabbling in a few only to get the products for twice Mme. Loerma’s price and half of its quality. Eowyn had thought that this particular herbalist wasn’t as bad as the others, however Aniika had royally and truly fucked her over. “What was in the fucking dwale?”

“You already know what was in the dwale or you wouldn’t be here, lovely.”

“Answer her question,” Azriel growled lowly, clearly wanting an explanation himself.

Eowyn ignored him.

“How do I get rid of it?” She shrugged Azriel’s arms away from her, stepping around the counter to face the herbalist who mirrored her movements, circling away while eyeing her and Azriel.

“You already know,” the grin the female sent her was unsettling, her eyes glinting brightly, almost reflective. If Eowyn didn’t know any better, she would say the herbalist was under the influence of some mind-bending nostrum, but alas she did know better. She had seen those glassy crazed eyes before.

“Oh quit it with the cryptic talk,” she snarled, “there must be another way to stop my head from fucking pounding.”

“Eowyn,” the way Azriel said her name, softly and only to her, yet firm and commanding of attention brought her face up to look at him, although he couldn’t see her under her veil. “Explain.”

She took a deep breath and held it before exhaling, trying to calm herself down. “She poisoned me,” no sooner had she spoken the words than he had the herbalist pinned to the wall, his shadows restricting her movements.

“And why,” he held Truthteller to her throat, “would you do such a thing?”

“She’s a witch!” The fae screeched, “I only put a little black hemlock in the dwale. It’s inoffensive to most High a-and lesser fae,” she said the last part quickly as he pressed the blade harder into her, “but it causes mild symptoms in witches.”

“What symptoms?” He pushed.

“Fever, headaches, body aches, visions,” she looked over his shoulder at Eowyn, but he deftly raised a wing, covering her from sight.

“And why would you do that?”

“I felt her,” her horrid breath shuddered in ecstasy that made his nose wrinkle in disgust, “I knew she was a witch when she came in for her sleeping draught last month and decided to add the hemlock to the batch she picked up last week— tell me, my Lady, have your eyes turned to their natural state? Can you feel her power coursing through your veins?”

“Fuck you,” she hissed, then placed an arm on Azriel’s shoulder, “let’s go Az, she won’t tell me anything.”

“I’ll make her tell you,” he gritted, the dagger beginning to cut deeper but not into the thin flesh and muscle, but rather slicing parallel in the slow beginning of a skinning.

“No! No!,” she yelled out in fear and pain, “you can either access your full power-“

“No.”

“-or you can just ride it out! There’s no other way, I swear it!”

“How long?”

“Two o-or three days, give or take— oh no, please!”

“Anything else?” Azriel looked over his shoulder and when she shook her head, if perhaps trembling and feeling drained as she crashed down from her explosive rage, he only turned back to the herbalist and hissed with icy cold rage. “Explain to me why you care if she’s a witch, and why I should let you live another miserable day.”

“Th-the Daughter… carries the wisdom of the Mother,” she stammered, but she looked at him confusedly as if she only shared common knowledge, “she will bring us salvation from the clutches of twisted thinking and shield us from—“

“Don’t listen to this bullshit, she’s just a cultist, she’s been brainwashed,” Eowyn insisted, pulling on his arm.

Az frowned at her but let the fae go.

Eowyn made her way outside, but the wind carried his voice out with her. “Tell the others I want that poison out of this city by dusk tomorrow. If I find just the slightest indication it’s still in Velaris, or that you told anyone what happened here, I’ll come back and finish the job,” he snarled lowly.

It wasn’t a threat. It was an act of mercy.

—

Azriel remained silent by her side as she leaned heavily onto the brick wall on the side of the street, barely managing to round the corner into the same alleyway before taking a deep shuddering breath. Uncaring that the walls were slick with an unknown sticky substance, she leaned her head back to the wall, squeezing her temples with her trembling thumb and middle finger.

“Eowyn,” he breathed softly, lowly, and she almost kissed him for it, for her head felt like it would explode if he spoke any louder.

“Can you take me home?”she asked, equally as soft and while on any other occasion she would’ve felt profoundly ashamed and embarrassed to ask for help— wouldn’t have dared to ask for it in the first place, too proud to be seen as weak, to feel herself become weak— she found she just could not give a damn.

Azriel said nothing in reply, yet she flinched slightly when she felt him approach her. Her eyes, hidden behind the veil but still closed with heavy tiredness, were both burning and felt like they didn’t belong on her body and she knew, without looking at her reflection that they appeared all-white.

She was a monster. She was a burden. Why would he ever bother with someone like her?

She felt his large strong and oh-so-careful hand cradle the back of her neck at the base, his other powerful arm reaching under her knees to swoop her in his arms while not jostling her head.

In sync, as always, she moved of her own accord in response to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and even went so far as to lay her head on his sturdy collarbone as his arm slid around her back, holding her firmly and steadily to his chest.

“You okay?” He asked in a whisper, much too used to the way their bodies seemed to just instinctively move in response to one another. She told herself it was due to their frequent sparring and proximity.

He flew them home in silence for a while, not rushing her response until she breathed out an “I will be” into his neck, resting her face there and inhaling deeply. She breathed in his soothing scent of cedar and night-chilled mist. What mist smelled like, she had no clue, but it was the only way to describe that specific scent that was true only to him.

He smelled like the misty droplets of almost-nothing water suspended in the air just before becoming tainted with the smell of earth as it lands upon a leaf or strand of grass. He smelled like the anticipation of nature, of life.

She pushed her straying thoughts away, fearful of any resurfacing delusions after a long day of loud voices in her head—loud voices! So loud she could barely hear herself think!— and the haunting visions she’d been plagued with all day.

The visions that came to mind now were of a different nature, basing entirely on the feeling of him so close, so solid, so safe around her.

Finally, she breathed, settling into that cloud of him, her left hand grasping a fistful of his wavy hair behind his ear, the other arm pulling him close to her. She couldn’t help but bask in his warmth as he flew through the early night sky, allowing his scent to permeate her senses. She buried her nose into his neck and inhaled deeply once again, shuddering at his smell, at the sound of his solid heartbeat under his skin, his strong powerful body carrying her so easily. She couldn’t get enough of him, she needed to dig deeper, fill every millimeter of her lungs with his scent, needed to fill all of her with all of him.

“Eowyn?” his voice sounded like it was underwater and thus was easy to ignore; his voice only fuelled the rest of her senses; she saw him bare and hard and aching, begging for her to take him, to let him take her. Flashes of him pounding into her, of him pressing such a strong powerful body down onto hers— “Eowyn, you’re trembling, are you alright?” He sounded scared and concerned and so unlike her eternally unemotional Illyrian.

His evident fear was like a bucket of ice cold water being poured over her head, as she gasped and jolted in his arms, eyes snapping open and pulling away from the vision she’d gotten sucked into. Like all the other visions she’d been plagued with all day, it seemed so solid, so real.

While the majority of her visions often replayed memories deeply buried, often distorted and turned extreme to exploit and lay out her vulnerabilities, this vision was different, if only just as concrete. Familiar, although it had never happened, but with the certainty that it was somehow fact and inevitable.

“I’m sorry,” she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut once again as she hugged him tighter. Tears slipped from her eyes, thick and viscous and burning, as if small trails of acid poured down her face. She panted as she tried to regain her composure, feeling her fingertips begin to tingle again, a telltale sign of her incoming episode, a sign she’d dismissed after her confrontation as lingering adrenaline. “Azriel, I can’t con-I can’t control them. Take me straight to Clotho and don’t- don’t listen anything I say-“

His jaw tightened, eyebrows furrowing as he frowned down at her, “I think I should take you to the house and have Madja look you over-“

“No,” she ground out through gritted teeth, “no, Clotho will know what to do, I—“ she cut herself off with a choked gasp, nails digging into Azriel’e shoulders, “please.” Then her voice changed like the flip of a switch, body falling limp and curling into itself. She spoke in a language he didn’t recognize, the consonants smooth and fluent but breathy and frightened. Her voice was barely a whisper in his ear as she spoke to someone in the recesses of her mind.

Nuunta caëderete

The next few hours came in blurry images to her. All out of order.

She knew she screamed and yelled and cried, but she couldn’t focus on anything at once as one vision turned into the next and twisted into a delusion.

She came back to consciousness, if only briefly enough, to catch a brief glance at Azriel rushing her into the library, calling out for Clotho. She remembered seeing Gwyn standing over her, face contorted with concern as she reached over to remove the veil from her head. Eowyn was only conscious enough to place a hand over her mouth to try to quell the wave of nausea that hit her, trying to cover her burning eyes with the other hand only to be stilled in place by Azriel who held tightly onto her hand.

Movement and the soft press of a mattress confirmed she had been put down in bed, but barely noticed it with the flurry of robed figures around her shuffling the large and angry winged male out of the room who refused to leave her side.

Somehow still aware of him– always aware of him like some kind of echo-location– she only had the presence of mind to snarl an, “out!” before the visions and the darkness took over again.

–

She was not aware that the Shadowsinger paced outside of the healers quarters for half an hour until the High Lord himself came in to fetch him, finding his brother angry and concerned, his hair a mess from running his hands through it and eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears of worry.

She didn’t know that that was the moment when he decided he couldn’t live without her.

No one was any the wiser to know that at that moment, he swore an oath, if only to himself– if the bargain ink that appeared in the shape of an unfamiliar rune on the side of his hip, in the exact same spot where Eowyn had her scar, confirmed– that wherever Eowyn went, Azriel vowed now and forever, to follow.

part twelve

taglist: @lilah-asteria , @a-courtof-azriel, @honk4emoboyz , @feyretopia , @mrsjna , @buttermilktea11 , @bravo-delta-eccho , @kylieinwonderland, @adventure-awaits13

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